The Meeting
by Jamie Ritchey
Summary: Blair decides he needs help


THE MEETING  
  
by Jamie Ritchey  
  
Disclaimer: The Sentinel and its characters are the property of Pet Fly, UPN,  
  
Paramount, and The SciFi Channel.  
  
Blair Sandburg stood outside in the hallway for a few minutes, bouncing  
  
nervously as people entered the classroom. He had seen the flyer on the staff  
  
bulletin board for years without really noticing it. He wasn't like 'those'  
  
people. But the longer he worked with Jim, the more he came to realize that...  
  
yes, he was just like them. He needed help, and he was finally desperate  
  
enough to try anything, even baring his soul to a bunch of strangers. After  
  
all, putting himself through that kind of pain was part of the problem.  
  
Gathering up his courage, Blair took a deep, cleansing breath, let it out  
  
slowly, and walked through the door. He had a vague idea of what he would find  
  
inside and he wasn't surprised. There were small groups scattered throughout  
  
the room, talking in low tones. A table along the wall by the windows had a  
  
large coffee urn surrounded by cups, cream and sugar. Next to that were a  
  
couple of large boxes of a varied selection of donuts. They were already half  
  
empty. Well, considering the addiction that was the focus of these meetings, a  
  
sweet tooth was probably a comforting necessity. Blair helped himself to a cup  
  
of coffee and sat down in a chair midway down the room, as close to the door  
  
as he could get. He really didn't need the caffeine, but it gave him something  
  
to do with his hands. He was pleasantly surprised to find they weren't  
  
shaking.  
  
The seats were rapidly filling as the time for the meeting to begin was  
  
approaching. Blair saw two men who were vaguely familiar move into the row in  
  
front of him. The tall blond followed his shorter, dark curly-haired  
  
companion, badgering him in a self-superior tone, "I'm telling you, Starsk.  
  
Jelly donuts are not your friends." His partner just waved a derogatory hand  
  
at him as he took his seat. I know these guys. They're COPS, Blair realized  
  
with a start. Blair grinned and began to feel more comfortable. He knew this  
  
kind of addiction was common among law enforcement types. Those two had a  
  
reputation for being almost as tough as Jim, and if they were brave enough to  
  
come the these meetings, then Blair had no reason to be ashamed.  
  
A young long-haired blond woman followed by a statuesque brunette goddess  
  
strode up to the podium. The blonde's attitude seemed to exude 'perky,' while  
  
the anthropologist in Blair could only describe the brunette as a warrior,  
  
though neither was lacking in any of the feminine attributes Blair held dear  
  
to his heart. Sitting up straighter in his seat to get a better view, Blair  
  
decided that maybe attending this meeting wouldn't be as grueling as he'd  
  
expected.  
  
The brunette claimed a seat in the front row as the blond waved her arms and  
  
cleared her throat, making sure she had everyone's attention before she began  
  
speaking.  
  
"Hello. My name is Gabrielle."  
  
"Hello, Gabrielle," the audience responded enthusiastically.  
  
Gabrielle's face lit up with a huge grin. "We all know why we're here, so why  
  
don't we get started. Are there any new attendees out there who would like to  
  
speak tonight?" She glanced back and forth across the rows of people, an  
  
encouraging smile on her face.  
  
Blair waited a few minutes, but as the silence dragged on, he swallowed the  
  
lump that had formed in his throat and stood up, giving a tentative little  
  
wave with his hand. Might as well get this over with.  
  
"Hello. My name is Blair, and I'm a hurt/comfort-a-holic," he said, amazed  
  
that his voice didn't waver from the fear that was vibrating down his spine.  
  
"Hello, Blair," the audience replied in unison.  
  
Blair paused, uncertain how to proceed. Gabrielle seemed to sense his  
  
apprehension, because she walked over and placed a soft hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Why don't you tell us how it started for you?" she said with a supportive  
  
smile.  
  
"Well, it started the very first day of my position as a police observer,"  
  
Blair began, returning Gabrielle's smile gratefully. "I'd been following  
  
Detective Jim Ellison around while he was trying to catch a serial bomber  
  
called the Switchman. I ended up hitting her. Man! Did that ever make my hand  
  
hurt. I was sitting in the ambulance while the paramedic bandaged me up when  
  
Jim came over and called me his new partner in front of one of the other cops.  
  
It was like the sun came out and lit me up from the inside, it felt so good to  
  
hear that." Blair could see some of the others in the audience nodding their  
  
heads as if remembering similar instances in their lives.  
  
"It's continued to escalate ever since," Blair continued, shoving a stray lock  
  
of his long curly hair behind an ear. "I've been kidnapped, beaten, drugged,  
  
shot. You name it, I've had it done to me, and I just keep coming back for  
  
more! My friends at Major Crimes have started calling me a trouble- magnet.  
  
They think it's just something that happens. But my deep, dark, dirty secret  
  
is that I'm doing it on purpose!" Blair cringed, expecting to hear a shocked  
  
gasp from the people listening to his sordid confession, but there was only a  
  
calm silence around him. He looked up and found only sympathetic smiles and  
  
knowing looks in everyone eyes.  
  
Gabrielle stretched her arm around his shoulders and gave him a gentle  
  
squeeze. "It might help you to understand your addiction if you could tell us  
  
why you persist in inflicting such pain on yourself," she said patiently.  
  
Blair glanced up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes, fighting not to let the  
  
tears that were threatening to form run free. Heaving a heavy sigh, he  
  
continued. "I guess it's because I want... no, I NEED the attention that I get  
  
from everybody when I get hurt." Blair stopped abruptly, startled where his  
  
confession was leading his troubled thoughts. "No! It's not everybody... It's  
  
Jim. Getting Mr. Hard-Ass, Army Ranger, Supercop to show a little brotherly  
  
concern is like pulling teeth, which is probably the only thing I haven't done  
  
yet to get him to comfort me."  
  
A chorus of "We hear you, brother" resounded from scattered areas of the room.  
  
Gabrielle patted his arm, then pulled his head down next to hers, freely  
  
sharing her love and sympathy. "We've all been where you are, Blair," she  
  
said, holding him tightly. Blair was beginning to wonder how he was supposed  
  
to recover from hurt/comfort addiction when all he could feel right now was  
  
the warm tingle Gabrielle's soothing embrace was engendering in his being.  
  
Wasn't that what he came here to fight?  
  
Gently disentangling himself from her comforting caress, he turned to her with  
  
a pleading look in his eyes. "I have to get over this. It's messing up my  
  
life. One more trip to the ER and my health insurance is gonna be canceled,"  
  
he cried.  
  
Gabrielle shrugged. "We'll help you all we can, won't we, everybody," she  
  
said, gesturing to encompass everyone in the room. Blair could see all his  
  
fellow sufferers nodding, some murmuring words of encouragement. "But for our  
  
program to really be effective, it's going to take more than just you." She  
  
touched his arm for emphasis. "Jim should really be here with you for this to  
  
be a successful recovery."  
  
Blair stepped back in defeat. "Oh, man! I'm doomed. Jim's never gonna agree to  
  
do this." He covered his face with his hands, trying not to lose his composure  
  
in the face of this heart-breaking disappointment.  
  
Suddenly, from the back of the room, a voice rang out, clear and strong, like  
  
a church bell reaching into his soul. "It's okay, little buddy. I'm here for  
  
you."  
  
Startled, Blair looked up. Standing like a mighty oak in the back of the room  
  
was Jim. His Sentinel, his rock, his friend was there, staring at him  
  
intently, with not a trace of disgust or embarrassment in his face. Jim slowly  
  
walked up beside him and said, "I followed you here, Blair, because I've been  
  
worried about you. You've been kinda down lately and I wanted to know why."  
  
Blair could only blink in astonishment. "You... you were worried about me?" he  
  
stammered.  
  
"Of course I was," Jim said. He gently cupped Blair's face with his hands. "I  
  
have my own confession to make. I've known all along what you were doing, and  
  
I let it go on, because it was the only way I could let myself comfort you.  
  
You see, I have my own cross to bear. It's called Mr. Spock's Facade Syndrome.  
  
People like me can only show emotional concern in the face of overwhelming  
  
pain and suffering in those we care about." Jim's eyes burned into Blair's,  
  
full of apologetic sorrow. "Can you ever forgive me for putting you through  
  
all that torment for the past few years?"  
  
"Oh, Jim. You know I can," Blair said, grabbing his friend in a bear-hug.  
  
"I've loved every minute."  
  
Grinning sheepishly, Blair released his stranglehold on Jim to the sound of  
  
thunderous applause from everyone in the room. Gabrielle grabbed each of them  
  
by the hand and led them to the front of the room. A delighted grin splitting  
  
her face, she said, "This is so great. You two have made a great start. The  
  
first step in curing your addictions is to admit them out loud to yourself and  
  
the people who love you."  
  
Blair couldn't stop smiling as Gabrielle led them over to seats next to her  
  
statuesque friend. Sitting between his best friend and a gorgeous amazon of a  
  
woman was his idea of heaven, until he caught Jim and the brunette eyeing each  
  
other over his head. Sighing, he turned his attention back to Gabrielle.  
  
"Okay, everybody. I think this has been a most productive meeting," Gabrielle  
  
said as she brought out a poster that she propped up on a stand. Turning back  
  
to the group, she prompted, "Let's all recite our Hurt/Comfort-a-holics  
  
motto." Using a pointer she led them in a rousing shout. "Being a friend does  
  
NOT mean being in pain."  
  
End  
  
  
  
  
  
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